Book Two, Back From the Dead
by morning sun
Summary: Michelangelo is not the same man he once was. He must overcome his past or sink into darkness. And love, perhaps, will be his light. M for Mature.
1. Chapter One: Preface, Starting Over

_**Authors Note:**_ Even though it says book 2, there is no reason not to keep reading. I do encourage you to read book 1, but the writing for the first few chapters is juvenile at best, so bear with it (perhaps familiarizer yourself with the epilogue?). I have grown as an author, I assure you. Anything mentioned that happened in the previous book will be explained enough that you *should* be able to follow though (or I'll explain it in an AN). That being said, I will mention that Michelangelo is a darker character now. His ex-girlfriend, Jade, was raped and murdered, and he walked in on the whole scene with the killer still there. He subsequently paid retribution to Jade by murdering her assailant-slowly and brutally.

With that, enjoy!

_**Disclaimer: **_I own nothing but the plot.

* * *

_**Book Two; Back From the Dead **_

_**A Story for Michelangelo **_

* * *

_**Chapter One: Preface, Starting Over**_

* * *

_I WHISPERED, 'I am too young,'  
And then, 'I am old enough';  
Wherefore I threw a penny  
To find out if I might love.  
'Go and love, go and love, young man,  
If the lady be young and fair.'  
Ah, penny, brown penny, brown penny,  
I am looped in the loops of her hair.  
O love is the crooked thing,  
There is nobody wise enough  
To find out all that is in it,  
For he would be thinking of love  
Till the stars had run away  
And the shadows eaten the moon.  
Ah, penny, brown penny, brown penny,  
One cannot begin it too soon. _

-Brown Penny, By William Butler Yeats

* * *

Everyone used to call her Penny. Growing up, it was Penny by her friends and her family. It was how she was introduced, and how she introduced herself. He father had, quite often, called her his "Brown Penny" and reminded her of the poem he'd named her after. The poem he'd recited to his mother numerous times before they'd married and had her- their only child.

"My Penny," he'd say to her, smiling a warm smile and hoisting her into his arms "I love you till' the stars run away."

And then she'd met Curtis.

"What is it short for?" He'd asked her over coffee. And she'd responded, "Penelope."

And from then, that's what she had gone by. Penny, Curtis had told her, was a child like name. Something you called a dog.

When her Daddy died, a year after she'd married Curtis, he'd called her Penny on his death bed. It was the last time anyone had called her that.

The bruises were easier to hide when she cut herself off from her family. Curtis had told her they were poison, and any communication with them seemed to make the abuse worse, make his anger greater. Her mother had finally stopped calling, her other relatives feeling snubbed and neglected, had also given up on her. And Penelope Fairchild (no longer was she Penny Brown- as her clever father had come up with), was truly alone.

Curtis had made sure of that.

And then she'd had Julius. Julius, who was more important than all the life she'd lived before the moment she had seen his face. Julius, whose sweet face and big brown eyes brought joy back into her life. Julius, who could not be raised by an abusive father. Who could not grow to see this man as the example of what to aspire to in adulthood. Penelope refused to let that happen.

But fear had hindered her. A year went by, then two, then four. Julius was a four year old boy, and Penelope was still covering her bruises, still on a hiatus with her mother, still calling herself Penelope Fairchild. She was still living a lie, and the fear of Curtis kept her there. Kept her bound and shackled to a violent man.

And then, Julius Carter Fairchild, at four years old, had spilled milk at the kitchen table.

The bruise the man had left on her small and helpless child's cheekbone had tipped the scale. Curtis had left for work, and Penelope had quickly packed their bags. Eight years married to an abusive husband would end on the day he hit their child.

She would have to file for divorce, go to battle for custody, find some way to elude the retribution Curtis would seek at her leaving, the overwhelming anger that would come when he returned home to find them gone. And panic gripped her at the thought of his occupation. Curtis was a Police Officer. He had connections that would surpass any attorney she might be able to hire. He had always made sure to hold his job over her head.

"_I'm a cop, Penelope. You think anyone gives a damn you've got a black eye? You _ever_ try to leave, it'll be the last mistake you make." _

And then the phone rang.

Once, twice, three times, before her perfectly manicured hand picked up the receiver. She raised the white phone to her contrasting ebony cheek. An authoritative voice spoke before she could even greet her caller.

"Is this Mrs. Penelope Fairchild?" Her brows furrowed, had he realized what she was doing? Had he ordered one of his cop friends to call and hassle her? It wouldn't' be the first time…

"Yes, this is she." Her voice was wavering, almost breathless.

There was a regretful sigh on the other line.

"Mrs. Fairchild… I'm sorry to inform you of this, but your husband… Your husband was killed today while apprehending a suspect in a bank robbery..."

At this, the phone slipped from her hands, clattering loudly onto the floor. Her breath caught in her throat, and yet, with a light touch of her fingers to her inflamed eye, a glance to her son, with his marred cheek, the tears never came.

* * *

_**11 Months Later…**_

Michelangelo stepped into his apartment, and the great happiness that filled him at the realization that this was indeed _his_ apartment was almost overwhelming. He'd been living here over a month now, as soon as Raphael and his girlfriend Theresa had left permanently for the farm house, and the sensation that he was truly on his own was still a thrill. In lieu of doing a cartwheel, however, he settled for a large grin and slipped off his boots by the door.

_His_ door.

The apartment coming into his possession was truly an act of kindness on Theresa's part. She had met Raphael when she'd been in a world of danger, pursued by a deranged stalker who was bent on slaughtering her. But Ethan Shempski was gone now, an unhappy memory that was dismissed as soon as he was thought of. Theresa had been rescued, after months of torment, by Michelangelo and his brothers, and Mikey himself had taken care of Ethan, using Raphael's sia to cut deep into the man's throat.

Michelangelo lost no sleep over the murder. He'd killed before, it was nothing new. He lost sleep over much worse things than disposing of a monster.

Then Raphael and Theresa, in love as they were, had started a life together. Theresa had taken a mortgage on April's farm house, and she and Raphael had moved there with their large dog Thor, and also with Master Splinter. The rat, as he had aged, had grown feeble and sick, and the farm would be better for him than the cold and dilapidated sewer. It had taken convincing on Leonardo's part, but finally the leader had seen the wisdom in it and had let his father go.

Theresa and Raphael were still in the city all the time. Theresa had agreed to stay with her law firm for another four months, until they found a replacement partner, and so she was commuting three times a week to the office, just down the street from the apartment Mikey now possessed. Once the four months were up she'd be working for the Prosecutors office in the small county the farm was in, her switching of sides- from Defense Attorney to District Attorney- an amusement to all around her.

Raphael came to the city often to see a new family friend; an old client of Theresa's named Corbin. Together the two were hashing out some business plan that both parties refused to comment on. Michelangelo thought that perhaps Raphael was including the man out of some pity, along with a desire to contribute monetarily to bills and other such things. Corbin had been beaten and battered by a gang leader named Benito Escobar, who was no longer living, but had left permanent damage to Corbin. His body was scared- with one particularly nasty cut running from his right shoulder to his left hip. The left side of his face was completely paralyzed, cut from temple to chin. For now he was walking with a cane, but intensive training with Leonardo, coupled with physical therapy would fix that soon enough. But Mikey though Raphael didn't want the man to feel useless, and that in part was why he'd included him in whatever elusive money making idea he'd come up with.

Michelangelo slipped off his long winter trench and ski hat, throwing them on a hanger in the coat closet. He'd been out early all morning, delivering papers while most residents weren't up and about to see his face. He'd been taking side jobs for a while now, determined to pay his share of the bills so he wouldn't have to rely on Theresa- even though she'd insisted it wasn't a big deal (Theresa, apparently, had deep pockets- both from her own profession and inherited family money). He hated owing a debt though, especially of that nature.

He made his way to the kitchen, picking up the pack of Marlboro Reds he'd left on the counter and lighting up as he poured himself a glass of orange juice. Smoking had been a habit he was unable to kick since he'd picked it up all those months ago. The nicotine calmed him, made him feel as at peace in his own skin than he had in a good long while, and he found that he could not give that up. Leonardo and Raphael had both harped on him about it, and they still did on occasion, but for now it seemed they accepted it as something their brother just did.

He inhaled and exhaled deeply, tapping out ash on one of the many well placed trays he'd scattered around the apartment. He still had nightmares. He still had not gained back his carefree and flippant nature. He still refused to talk to Donatello.

But he was getting better.

Looking around his apartment- _his apartment_- he knew he was getting better.

And it made him smile.

* * *

_**Authors Note**_: E-mail me with questions or leave them in a review. Anyone wanting to know why Mikey isn't speaking to Don; Donny was in a relationship with Jade (Mikey's murdered ex) after she and Mike broke up. Michelangelo did not find out about this until a good while after Jade had died. Anger and fist throwing ensued as a result.

Reviews? Oh, why, I love them. Thank you for asking. ;)


	2. Chapter Two: Getting Better

_**Chapter Two: Getting Better, Getting Worse**_

* * *

_It's hard to see you again  
Now that you're back from the dead  
It's horrid to see you again  
So bored of being you_

_It's hard to see you again  
Unaware that all may not be lost  
It's hard to see you again  
So bored of being alive__._

_-Lazarus, By Placebo_

* * *

"Jesus Mike, it's a million degrees in here!"

Michelangelo pulled off his coat, nodding at Justin's proclamation as the blast of humid air hit him. He hated to be cold, and with the winter weather still carrying on outside he'd been going a little overboard with the temperature settings in his apartment. He'd pay for it, he knew, when the bill came. As he made his way to the thermostat to turn down the heat, throwing his trench over the brown suede couch Theresa had left for him, he reflected at the oddity of having Justin Hunt in his home.

A few months ago Theresa's colleague at the law firm _Shade, Shempski, Colden and Hunt_, was a prime suspect as her unknown stalker. However, when the smoke had cleared, Justin Hunt had ended up being a considerable asset in helping to rescue Theresa from Ethan Shempski's deranged clutches, and to cover their tracks in the aftermath as well. Since then, as things often happen in bouts of great trauma, the turtles had formed a tentative friendship with the self-assured attorney. Michelangelo suspected that seeing his college murdered, and knowing it was a shared memory between himself and the rest of the brothers, had helped that awkward friendship along.

Nonetheless, Michelangelo liked the man. He was straight forward, and as honest as any attorney could ever really be. And he smoked. A smoking buddy was hard to come by. Mikey had gone out to get a new pack of Marlboros and had stopped by the Justin's office and invited him back for a drink when he saw the light still going. Justin often put in late hours.

Justin's dog Dandy, who was hardly ever seen without his master, had made his way to the couch, struggling with his stubby legs to pull himself onto it and promptly fall asleep. This action attested to the late hour the night had crept into, seeing that the dog was usually running in circles with enthusiastic vigor. Mikey pat the dog on his way back to the kitchen, mimicking Justin's actions and lighting a cigarette as he went. He retrieved two bottles of the Christmas Ale he'd been able to purchase earlier in the week (on sale since it was February), handing one to Justin and taking a seat across from him at the small kitchen table (also left for him by Theresa). Scattered on the table between them was the most ridiculous thing Michelangelo thought he had ever done in his free time.

"… How did this happen?" Michelangelo asked, for what felt like the hundredth time in the last two weeks.

Justin spared a glance across the table at him and shrugged. "Just go with it man," he responded.

The puzzle, with over a thousand pieces and depicting the rolling green hills of Ireland, had been found tucked away in the closet of the spare room- another of Theresa's left behind treasures. Michelangelo had been drunk when he'd found the box, and drunk when he'd stared trying to put the lookalike pieces together. He hadn't made much progress, but Justin had seen the mammoth puzzle when he'd stopped by one night and had begun to help him put it together. The curly haired attorney had more patience for this sort of thing, it seemed, and the progress made was marked. The border of the puzzle was complete, and the end Justin was at was almost whole. Michelangelo's own side of the puzzle, the blues of the sky, only had a corner portion finished.

It was frustrating, but also a good way to pass the time.

They chatted idly, mostly about nothing (sports, a well-liked sitcom, how Theresa and Raphael were fairing) for the better part of an hour. Michelangelo's iPod had been hooked into the radio on shuffle, music pumping through the apartment on a low volume. Empty beer bottles sat on the kitchen counter, and cigarette smoke loomed above the men. Michelangelo beat a new pack on the table, packing the nicotine before opening the cellophane and lighting up once more.

"Doing this makes me smoke more," he said on an exhale, flicking ash into the tray placed at the corner of the table.

"You wanna quit?" Justin asked, not bothering to look up from the puzzle.

"Nope. I think I'd be a wreck if I did."

At this Justin raised a brow and looked at the turtle across form him. "I meant the puzzle, Mike."

"… Oh. Yeah, okay. Want to call Amy?" He spoke of another friend of the turtles, a nurse who had been in their lives for over two years now.

Justin looked at his watch. "Nah, it's late. I'm going to head out."

Mikey stood, stretching and rolling his shoulders. He waved Justin goodbye, scratching Dandy behind the ears before they left. With Justin gone Michelangelo flipped on the television, settling on old reruns of the British version of The Office. The television had been Theresa's gift to Michelangelo for the holidays, and it was _magnum opus_ of the apartment. It was a sixty inch flat screen plasma high-definition TV, mounted in all its glory on the wall, Ricky Gervais looking as though he was sitting in Mikey's home rather than appearing on the screen. Raphael had complained about leaving the monstrosity behind until Theresa had assured him they were upgrading. Although, knowing Theresa, an upgrade to her would be something considerably smaller.

Michelangelo had yet to see the farm house, nor had any of the others. Raphael and Theresa were in the city quite often, occasionally bringing Splinter along with them, and Theresa insisted that the renovations and decorating be complete before she went showing it off to them. But when she talked of it, she positively beamed. Even Raphael couldn't suppress a twitch of the lips.

They were happy.

Michelangelo pushed away the thought. It wasn't as though he weren't happy for them. It was just… difficult. Theresa, who might as well be his sister in-law, had uncannily made her way under his skin. Seeing her so full of bliss was a good thing, a wanted and appreciated thing. And while he had never really held any true interest of claiming her as his own, he still couldn't help that he had feelings for her. He didn't want her, didn't need her, but he did- though he hated to admit it- love her.

Perhaps he and Justin had that in common as well.

Most days this creeping feeling did not bother Michelangelo. He was not interested in harboring any unrequited love for a woman who clearly belonged to, and perhaps was meant for, his brother. In fact, knowing that he could love again, after what he'd gone through with Jade, was enough.

Michelangelo visibly cringed. He'd not meant to even think her name. He'd been doing so well at ignoring the whole damn fiasco all together. He had made a conscious effort to break the vices he'd picked up in the aftermath of her death. He had stopped drinking quite so heavily, leaving any substantial consumption for the weekends. He'd practically quit all the nefarious drugs he'd depended on to help him forget past events (though, on occasion, he'd still hit a pipe with Amy and Justin, reasoning that if a nurse and an attorney, two of the most professional people he knew, could get high, it was no big deal if he did as well). And he'd been working out again, delegating his spare bedroom to act as an exercise space as well as a study. He'd been able to bring up spare weights from the lair, and had purchased an old treadmill from Corbin at the low price of an entire paper delivering pay check (which, truth be told, wasn't really all that much). So, he reasoned, he was getting better. All of that _proved_ it…

Though, with the anniversary of her death looming ever closer, the nightmares had escalated.

It was the reason he was up so late every night, avoiding sleep until he could no longer keep his eyes open. The dreams were never the same, sometimes beginning in the most fantastical of ways (as dreams often do). But without fail they would end up as a showcase of Jaden Chambers. Usually she'd be laughing, tossing her brown hair behind her, her eyes sparking with humor. And then… it would change. Everything became dark and horrid, and Michelangelo would watch as her life was snuffed out in the most brutal of ways, never able to prevent the inevitable, only able to watch as the light left her eyes.

He woke most mornings in a cold sweat, winded and practically hyperventilating. It was then that it was hardest to stick to his resolve of not falling back into old habits. Not to sink into the oblivion of nothingness- where the hurt would be eased away. But he had resisted. He kept himself as busy as he could. He delivered papers in the early morning, he stuffed envelopes for an online business twice a week from the convenience of his own home and he was constantly combing through the paper, trying to find odd jobs that he'd be able to accomplish without much face time or inquiries on the employers end. It was hard though, sticking to this new regime. Truth be told- he mostly was able to accomplish this out of his need to contribute to rent. Michelangelo did not want to be indebted to Theresa. He didn't want to depend on family, or have people taking care of him anymore. He was an adult. He wanted to be treated like one.

He _needed_ to be treated like one.

Michelangelo felt his eyes growing heavy, and while sleep was often unwelcomed due to the horror-esque nightmares he'd be having, he embraced it just now. His thoughts on this night, and on so many nights as of late, felt bombarded. They seemed a jumbled mess of unwanted memories, and Michelangelo felt plagued in his waking hours with the recollections of Jade and the thoughts of Theresa and the murder of Ethan Shempski. He was constantly overwhelmed with his own circling anxiety regarding his late addictions and plausible melancholy (though, he quite rarely admitted the later to himself. Depression was not something he was willing to admit he _might _have to battle,) and the possibility of sinking back into them. Though, he pushed away the thoughts of Donatello whenever they might appear.

He did _not_ let himself think of his brother.

So the sleep, as it washed over him, was indeed welcomed. He let his eyes close, his head lull, and almost subconsciously he turned off the television and stretched out on the couch.

And he dreamed. He dreamed of wolves and a forest and the terror struck face of Jade.

And death. Michelangelo dreamed of death.

* * *

"_If you meet a woman of whatever complexion who sails her life with strength and grace and assurance, talk to her! And what you will find is that there has been a suffering, that at some time she has left herself for hanging dead."_

_-__Sena Jeter Naslund_

* * *

"I think I'm getting sick."

As if to punctuate this, Penny fell into a fit of coughing. She made a face when it was over, grabbing a tissue from her purse and wiping her nose with it. Her son watched her with concerned eyes.

"I think you _are_ sick mama," he said, tugging at the hem of her coat.

Penny smiled down at him, clearing her throat. Behind her, she heard a quite chuckle. With a glance over her shoulder she briefly caught glimpse of a man (it must be), bundled against the cold he'd just escaped from and wearing his wide brimmed fedora low to cover his face. Penny's lips twitched at her son's humor.

"You sure you don't wanna ride in the cart baby?" She asked him, grabbing a bag of golden apples and placing them in the shopping cart. It was late to have him at the grocery store she knew, but this seemed like the only time she could get her shopping done. When he started Kindergarten next year she knew she wasn't going to be able to go evening grocery shopping any more. Perhaps she'd be able to get a weekend day off?

Lost in thought, she'd missed what her son had said to her.

"What Jules?"

The boy sighed. "I _said_, I don't wanna ride in the cart, and I don't like apples."

Penny tisked. "_I_ like apples," She stressed. "And I'm gonna make a pie, Julius. You like apple pie."

Julius made a face, "I don't like raw apples, then."

Penny hid a smile, but she heard the man from before, who was now setting limes into his hand basket, breath out a small laugh.

"Oh Julius, enough." They continued on down the aisles, Penny stopping twice to sneeze in into her elbow. With each item placed into the cart Penny crossed it off the list lying on top of her purse, figuring up the amount in her head and trying not to scowl. She'd have to take a few extra shifts to cover this particular trip.

All the while, Julius looked concerned up at his mother. She kept sniffling and coughing and clearing her throat, and the boy remembered that this was exactly what he'd been doing last week. They had even made his mama come get him from the daycare because of it.

"… Mommy, did I get you sick?"

His mother cut her eyes to him, as if also remembering her child had been recently ill. "Probably," she replied on a sigh, reaching down a hand and mussing his curls.

Julius frowned. He hadn't meant to do that. But he had felt better curled in her lap, her hands running through his hair and her voice humming out a quiet song. She'd given him homemade soup that was better than the canned kind his friend Derrick got from his mother. And she'd let him sip on sprite and watch Elmo all morning, tucked tightly in warm fleece blankets. And, when she'd thought he was asleep, Julius had heard his mommy get yelled at on the phone by her boss.

Julius hadn't really understood why, but he thought it may have been because he'd been sick. And now mommy was getting sick too. He wondered if she'd get yelled at again, and he held back tears at the thought. He didn't want _anyone_ yelling at his mommy.

Then he remembered something. Mommy had given him medicine. It had even been the good kind that tasted like bubblegum (at least- that's what mommy said. He'd never been allowed to have bubblegum). He thought he could probably find the same kind for her. He and mommy came here a lot, he knew his way around. Then she'd have medicine that would make her feel better, and she wouldn't get yelled at again. And _maybe_ she wouldn't make him eat those icky uncooked apples.

Julius slipped away, his mother looking intently at the packaged cuts of pork as he did so.

Two aisles down, Michelangelo watched the boy run past, and shook his head before following.

* * *

_**Authors Note;**_ BAH! I'm sick! I'm sick; Penny gets to be sick. Take that imaginary lady!

Also, I've picked up that awful habit of smoking. I smoke; Mike smokes… are we seeing a pattern? (When I quit, he'll quit. …Don't worry, that's soon)

I, however, have never lost my child in a store. Not that she's never tried to wander off.

I'll try to catch mistakes. This is a Valentines gift for all you good readers. May your day be filled with…? I have nothing sappy enough I can stomach typing, so just have a good day. :)


	3. Chapter Three: Under a Crescent Moon

**Chapter Three: Under a Crescent Moon **

* * *

Theresa breathed in deep, inhaling the chill night air and wincing as it burned her lungs. It was late, but sleep eluded her. Raphael was in their bed, gone to dreams and snoring. She'd been there for a bit as well, glad to be getting a full nights rest after a long day of driving to and from the city (a client had started trial that morning and it had run hours later than it should have), and coming home to help Raphael paint the living room. Then they'd cooked chili together, sitting at the table with Splinter and laughing at each other's various paint stains. Then it was off to the guest bathroom for its second coat of paint while the large rat sipped tea and watched them cross-legged from the hall, smiling at their almost childish banter. After, Theresa had helped Splinter to his room, kissing his furry cheek before she left him. Then she had slept, hooked in Raphael's arms, his face buried in her shoulder as he too drifted off, the aches in her back and the worries of the day drifting away.

But she'd awoken- the tendrils of sleep she had tried desperately to cling to snapping away like a dry twig to its tree. She'd lain there, staring at the ceiling, counting backwards and then forwards from fifty, then doing it again from two hundred. Nothing happened, except perhaps she had become even more awake than before. Restless, she'd slipped out of bed, donning a thick robe and slippers, knowing that the notion of sleep was fruitless at this point.

And she knew why.

Michelangelo, though he'd hide it for as long as he could, needed help. He was getting better- that was certainly true. He seemed calmer, more put together. But he was not whole, and not healed. She could see him trying to pull himself up, trying to put himself back together, but it seemed that he was falling short. He smoked continuously, his fingers drumming with nerves that at times seemed stretched so thin he'd tear apart right before her eyes. He'd smile and joke and laugh, and most of the time it was genuine. But to Theresa, it seemed like he battled to make it happen. That the laughter did not come easy, and the banter did not ring true.

And she wanted to help. Wanted to reach out a hand and help to pull him up. But…

"_I love you. I'll be here, as a friend and a brother. … But I love you."_

His words drifted to her as if carried on the cold winter air, and Theresa flinched at them. He had spoken them to her on the night of her rescue from Ethan Shempski- her deranged stalker-turned-abductor. Mikey had been more than a brother, more than a friend to her during that night and that horrible crisis. He'd saved her. He had walked through the fires of hell as if the flames had been nothing but a lick of smoke, and he'd pulled her out- vanquishing demons along the way. And Theresa had loved him that night- for that one instant. Loved him for what he was, what he could be and what he stood for. When he had held her in his arms, surrounded by shards of broken glass and glaring down at her captor, a crumpled and unmoving heap on the floor, she had loved him.

She had loved him for a moment, it may be true. But the moment was gone as quickly as it had come, and Raphael held her whole heart, filled it to the point where she wasn't sure how anyone could hold so much love for someone. And Michelangelo was her brother, for nothing stirred at the thought of him.

So as much as Theresa wanted to return the favor, to save Mikey or repay him in some way for all he'd done for her- she was afraid to do so. Afraid to hurt him more than he was already hurting, to drive a knife deeper than it had already gone- through skin and flesh and bone. He was healing, but he was not whole, and Theresa had realized in these last months that she could not help the situation. That she could do nothing but watch as Michelangelo tried to gather all the pieces of his broken life and try to make them fit.

And since everything was fitting so well for her, falling into place with such ease, Theresa felt guilty. She had the abiding love for Raphael that was returned to her in tenfold, a rewarding career, steadfast friendships and a home that had captured her heart the moment she'd stepped foot in it. It felt so wrong to be so happy when someone she cared about was in such pain.

There was movement behind her, and Theresa knew it was purposeful- Raphael could and had, on many occasions, snuck up on her without a mere sound. The afghan draped over her shoulders, strong hands squeezing them before Raphael took a seat next to her. They sat there in silence for a while, looking out into the night from their wrap-around porch. The snow was deep and pure, and it perched on the thick woods surrounding their home in a picturesque way. Somewhere in the distance, a screech owl called out, making Theresa smile.

Raphael looked at her, thoughtful. "Before I met you," he began, "I didn't think I'd even be able ta' live in a place like this. The city… I loved it. It seemed like I'd never sleep without the sound of traffic and people."

Raphael took her hand and held it. "But I know you, Theresa. You ain't a city boy like me. So you ain't out here cause of that."

Theresa looked at him and gave a slight shake of her head. "No… not because of that," she replied.

"Mikey then."

He said it without question, but Theresa nodded anyway.

"I'm worried about him Raph. I know you and Splinter are too. And Leo… And even Don. And… and I feel like no one, not you or me or anybody, can help him."

Raphael sighed, pulled her closer. "You worry too much. Mikey… he's gonna figure it all out. And we can't push him or prod him. He's got his own place now, to help him settle his issues all out. An' worryin' around about him and fussin' over him will only make it worse."

Theresa nodded. "I know. I just… I hate not being able to help. …He did so much for me."

A silence stretched between them, though not uncomfortable.

"Seeing you, it hurts Mike," Raphael finally said, and Theresa felt tears swim in her eyes.

"I know," she whispered.

"He loves you babe. Or- he thinks he does. And I know you ain't stupid. Hell, he probably told you. And I don't wanna know if he did or not. But… you gotta let him be."

Theresa nodded, not trusting herself to speak. She should have known that Raph had already figured out how Michelangelo felt. He was sharp and observant- more so than most gave him credit for. And she loved him for it. Loved him for all his strengths and faults.

"I love you," she said, gripping his hand tightly.

Raphael held her closer and kissed the top of her head. "I love you too babe."

And they sat here like that, surrounded in the light of the snow and the moon, each taking comfort in the others presence, for a good and long while.

* * *

"Where's your mom, little dude?"

Michelangelo had eased close to the young boy, who was now peering intensely at the shelves of cough medicine that lined the aisle. He was small and thin- like a boy who'd done more than his fair share of running and playing with the enthusiasm only young boys had. His skin was just as dark as his mothers, black as coffee with curly hair that matched. He whipped his head towards Mike, brown eyes wide, startled by the voice that had taken him by surprise.

Julius had been too busy trying to decide which type of cold medicine his mother might like to pay much attention to his surroundings. And now next to him was a large hulking man, his tan coat long and roomy and his jeans baggy and frayed. His blue scarf and wide brimmed hat covered most of his face, so that Julius could not tell much of anything about him. The boy sized the large man up, taking a step back, wondering if he should yell as his mother had told him to do when confronted by a stranger.

Michelangelo sighed. "I'm not gonna do anything to you kid. I'm just thinkin' your mom might be worried about you. We could have a clerk page her…?"

Julius just looked at him, still not sure how to react. He was saved the trouble, however, when his mother came rushing down the aisle.

"_Jules_!"

Julius flinched. She sounded worried and out of breath, and more than a little angry. She passed the Mike without so much as a glance toward him, taking her sons arm in a firm grip. "Julius Carter Fairchild, what were you _thinking_?!"

Julius looked at the man in the aisle, who had stared to back away slowly, then to his mother. "I dunno… I just… I just wanted to get you medicine."

His mother's brows knit, her lip pursed. "Medicine?"

Julius nodded. "Because you're sick," then he added, as an afterthought, "Because I got you sick, mama."

The man in the scarf laughed a little, and Penny seemed to notice him then.

"Sorry," Mikey said, pulling his hat down more. "I saw him and thought maybe he'd gotten away from you. I was going to have a clerk page you, but you seem to have found him now." The man gave a short wave to Julius. "Stay close little man."

Julius had opened his mouth to inform the man that he was _not_ little, but his mother spoke before he had the chance.

"Thanks very much… I, uh, I think I've seen you in here before?"

Mikey nodded, taking another step back. "Probably," he responded. "I usually shop late."

She was pretty, with dark skin, almond shaped brown eyes and black shoulder length hair that had been straightened and curled at the ends. There was an awkward moment of silence between them before Michelangelo coughed and shuffled his feet.

"Well-"

"I'm Penny," She held out her hand, taking a step forward.

Michelangelo blanched. Who did this? Who introduced themselves to strangers like this? Weren't they in New York City? Things like this never happened. He was lucky to get a grunt of an apology if someone bumped his shoulder on the crowded sidewalks, and here this woman was introducing herself?

"Oh… Uh, I'm Mike," he replied, and so caught off guard was he that before he could really think about what he was doing he took her hand and shook it.

It was in that moment that Michelangelo remembered that he'd slipped off his mittens and stuffed them into his coat pockets. He drew his hand away quickly, barely holding the woman's for a moment. Her face was a little cautious, but she hadn't seemed to notice. The boy, however, was looking at Mikey's hands, his eyes narrowed in thought.

Michelangelo coughed again. "Well, maybe I'll see you around," he said, and quickly he picked up the shopping basket he'd set by his feet and retreated. As he put distance between them, he could hear the boy saying to his mother, "Mom… he had green hands."

Michelangelo grimaced, and when he was out of sight he shoved his mittens back on. He finished his shopping in a rush then, blindly grabbing microwave meals and a six pack of Harp lager. He was glad to be the only one in the checkout line when he got there; placing his minimal amount of items on the belt and requesting two packs of Marlboro's form the clerk. He was hoping against hope he could leave without incident, but fate seemed to be playing against him on this night. He heard the steps behind him, the voice of a young child humming some nameless tune, and he knew the pair had also made their way to the checkout. He glanced behind him, noticing the very full cart in comparison to his partially filled basket and sighing over it. He didn't know what half the things in her cart were, let alone know how to prepare them. The boy, whose mother had called him Julius, gave Mikey a wave, and Mikey nodded back, refusing to lift his hands even though they were now covered. The woman was pulling out coupons, but she paused and smiled at him, and Michelangelo decided she was too friendly for her own good.

"Mom," the boy was saying as Michelangelo handed over bills that had been hard earned, "are we carrying all this again?"

""We'll be alright baby," she replied, and Michelangelo looked at the boy in time to see him twist his face in disappointment.

"We have a car," he complained, and his mother tutted at him. "We're only a block away. We'll be fine Julius."

The boy moaned, and Mikey caught himself before he chuckled. He took his bags, already beating one of the packs of cigarettes on his palm as he exited the store. He stopped to light up, and had only made it ten feet before guilt forced him to stop in his tracks.

"Damn it. Damn it to hell."

He stood there under the moon and street lights, inhaling deeply and tugging his hat low, grimacing and muttering all the while. It took a little over ten minutes for the woman and her small son to exit the grocery store, and Michelangelo stamped out his second cigarette and, waiting a moment to see that they were walking in the same direction as he was, he approached them.

The woman, a red winter ski cap now pulled on her head, stopped dead as she saw him nearing. Michelangelo, his two plastic bags hanging from his wrist and the six pack tucked under his arm, raised his gloved hands in a show of harmlessness.

"Hey," he began, "Penny, right?"

The woman nodded, loaded with groceries but awkwardly trying to place herself in front of her son.

"Here, I'll help you carry those."

She immediately was taking a step back, nearly treading on the boys toes in the process.

"No, I'm fine really-"

"Listen," Michelangelo interrupted. "I'm not a weirdo or anything. I just… I heard you say your place was only a block away. I live two blocks away and I'm gonna pass it anyway. I'd feel like an ass if I just let you carry all that and didn't help." Then, realizing that he'd cursed, he amended, "I'm mean jerk. I'd feel like a jerk."

The woman looked less weary now, her eyes narrowed in thought, trying in vain to see his face past his thick scarf and low hat. From behind her Julius looked at him as well. "Come on mom, this is heavy!" And though she had only had him carrying a loaf of bread he hefted is as though it were a twenty pound bag of dog food. Penny rolled her eyes and then looked again at Michelangelo.

"I have mace and a pocket knife," she told him. "Try anything and it'll be the last thing you do."

Mikey nodded, holding back a smile even though he knew she couldn't see it. "I'll walk in front of you. I'll give them back to you at the front of the building; I won't walk up with you."

She hesitated for a beat longer, but Mikey thought the weight of the groceries must have swayed her decision, because she finally nodded, handing him bag after bag that she'd strategically placed over each of her wrists. He took most of it, even when she'd said she could handle the rest, leaving her with only three bags of what looked like fruits and vegetables, and a gallon of milk. Then he snagged the lone loaf of bread from the boy, who sighed in relief and jumped in small circles with enthusiasm. Then they turned, Mikey taking the lead, cursing inwardly once more and hoping without much confidence that his appearance would go unnoticed to the woman and her overly observant son And he thought cynically, knowing he was making a colossal mistake, _"Damn my bleeding heart."_

* * *

**_AN_**: Thanks to Frey Reh, I literally was not paying attention to that. I need to go fix it. :(

And thank you for all the reviews and kind encouragements! I'll try to be more regular with updates, but no promises. I'm the worst at keeping up on these things. Now, make me a happy woman and tell me what you think!


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